Why does the end of the school year mean an utterly insane lets-cram-every-project-test-paper-report-event-we-can-fest? Seriously, Oh Teachers of my Children. You have had them in your classrooms for ten months now. Why have you waited until there are only three weeks of school left to do a year’s worth of work? And why, Great Biology Teacher, do you insist on the gathering of certain specific flower specimens for a field book when they are either a) not native to our harsh Texas environment; b) already well past their blooming season; and c) not even close to coming out of dormancy yet? Seriously? Aren’t you a biology teacher? With a passion for botany???
Of course, I’ve done my own share of overloading the Pea Family Calendar. We have orthodontist appointments, dentist appointments, doctor appointments, optometrist appointments and the Fort Worth Mountain Bike Association Fat Tire Festival. I’m the one who made all of those appointments and scribbled them onto the calendar. Then there’s Mr. Pea’s birthday celebration, that will include cake baking if I can get the contrary oven to function properly for more than ten minutes. Let’s not forget Princess Pea’s graduation and all of the parties and gatherings that go with it, as well as the followup “let’s-move-to-college-hours-away-from-home-game which ensue shortly thereafter. BTW – if any of you are close by and have any well-loved furniture that you would like to get out of your house, I know a couple of bright, beautiful young ladies who have just signed the leases for their first apartment and would be delighted to give it a good home.
Mr. Pea and I are still feeling cruddy. Allergy season is particularly vicious this year. I’ve used TWO humongous family sized boxes of tissues this week. I’m not letting it get to me, though. I played “Death By Boxes” yesterday in Crossfit. You start on the minute, flex your knees and jump up onto the top of a wood box, stand up straight, then step down. My box was the – ahem – baby box. A mere 15″ tall. At minute two, you jump up and step down twice. Three times at minute three, and so on through twenty minutes. It’s deceptive. At first you think to yourself, “Oh yeah. I’m tough. I have this in a bag.” By minute twelve, when you’re tired because you’ve already jumped up onto this stupid box 68 times, it seems to grow about a foot taller. Then, you realize that the ‘rest’ seconds between minutes have dwindled considerably and you’re jumping constantly without stopping. Up to the top of a six-foot tall $#^* wooden box!
I made it to 17 minutes and 17 jumps. I had to stop because I couldn’t finish 18 jumps in less than a minute. Now I have a goal to kick out 20 minutes. On a taller box.
Jump to it. Keep the Faith.